Heigh-ho! an it be not four by the day, I’ll be hang’d. Charles’ wain

is over the new chimney, and yet our horse not pack’d.—What, ostler!

[_within._] Anon, anon.

I prithee, Tom, beat Cut’s saddle, put a few flocks in the point; poor

jade is wrung in the withers out of all cess.

Peas and beans are as dank here as a dog, and that is the next way to

give poor jades the bots. This house is turned upside down since Robin

ostler died.

Poor fellow never joyed since the price of oats rose, it was the death

of him.

I think this be the most villainous house in all London road for fleas.

I am stung like a tench.

Like a tench! By the Mass, there is ne’er a king christen could be

better bit than I have been since the first cock.

Why, they will allow us ne’er a jordan, and then we leak in your

chimney, and your chamber-lye breeds fleas like a loach.

What, ostler! Come away and be hanged, come away.

I have a gammon of bacon and two razes of ginger, to be delivered as

far as Charing Cross.

God’s body! The turkeys in my pannier are quite starved.—What, ostler!

A plague on thee! Hast thou never an eye in thy head? Canst not hear?

An ’twere not as good deed as drink to break the pate on thee, I am a

very villain. Come, and be hanged. Hast no faith in thee?

Good morrow, carriers. What’s o’clock?

I think it be two o’clock.

I prithee, lend me thy lantern, to see my gelding in the stable.

Nay, by God, soft! I know a trick worth two of that, i’faith.

I pray thee, lend me thine.

Ay, when? Canst tell? “Lend me thy lantern,” quoth he! Marry, I’ll see

thee hanged first.

Sirrah carrier, what time do you mean to come to London?

Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I warrant thee. Come, neighbour

Mugs, we’ll call up the gentlemen. They will along with company, for

they have great charge.

What, ho! Chamberlain!

At hand, quoth pick-purse.

That’s even as fair as “at hand, quoth the chamberlain,” for thou

variest no more from picking of purses than giving direction doth from

labouring; thou layest the plot how.

Good morrow, Master Gadshill. It holds current that I told you

yesternight: there’s a franklin in the Wild of Kent hath brought three

hundred marks with him in gold. I heard him tell it to one of his

company last night at supper; a kind of auditor, one that hath

abundance of charge too, God knows what. They are up already, and call

for eggs and butter. They will away presently.

Sirrah, if they meet not with Saint Nicholas’ clerks, I’ll give thee

this neck.

No, I’ll none of it. I pray thee, keep that for the hangman, for I know

thou worshippest Saint Nicholas as truly as a man of falsehood may.

What talkest thou to me of the hangman? If I hang, I’ll make a fat pair

of gallows; for, if I hang, old Sir John hangs with me, and thou

knowest he is no starveling. Tut, there are other Troyans that thou

dream’st not of, the which for sport sake are content to do the

profession some grace, that would, if matters should be looked into,

for their own credit sake make all whole. I am joined with no

foot-land-rakers, no long-staff sixpenny strikers, none of these mad

mustachio purple-hued malt-worms, but with nobility and tranquillity,

burgomasters and great oneyers, such as can hold in, such as will

strike sooner than speak, and speak sooner than drink, and drink sooner

than pray: and yet, zounds, I lie, for they pray continually to their

saint the commonwealth, or rather not pray to her, but prey on her, for

they ride up and down on her, and make her their boots.

What, the commonwealth their boots? Will she hold out water in foul

way?

She will, she will; justice hath liquored her. We steal as in a castle,

cock-sure; we have the receipt of fern-seed, we walk invisible.

Nay, by my faith, I think you are more beholding to the night than to

fern-seed for your walking invisible.

Give me thy hand. Thou shalt have a share in our purchase, as I am a

true man.

Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false thief.

Go to; _homo_ is a common name to all men. Bid the ostler bring my

gelding out of the stable. Farewell, you muddy knave.